In Another Life
by IwatchforScofields
Summary: AU story : Michael is an engineer encountering a serious health problem and Sara is a doctor fighting a struggle of her own.
1. Chapter 1

It has been a terrible day. Friday, 13 October. Not that he was superstitious. He just had a bad damn luck in general. How else could you explain the fact that he was sitting in the exam room of the Chicago General at 8 pm on a Friday instead of wearing the stress from the workweek off in a bar with his brother or, even better, chilling at home in front of his brand new huge and expensive TV. Instead, here he was in this small white room, lying on the cot and pressing a cloth to his bleeding nose. He sighed and pried the cloth away experimentally to check if the bleeding has stopped.

The cloth was half soaked in bright ruby fluid but the bleeding seemed to finally cease. The metallic smell of it was giving him nausea. How much longer was he supposed to wait here for a doc to come and check on him? He toyed with the idea of skedaddling. The bleeding has stopped, right?

As if on cue, he felt another droplet run down his nose and onto his lips. He cursed and pressed the cloth back to his nose creating pressure. Today it had been a particularly long and intense episode of bleeding. Maybe his brother was right, after all. He did need to get it checked. Who knows how long he would have kept ignoring this situation if today the bleeding hadn't started during his afternoon meeting, right when he stood up to present the project in front of a bunch of important customers. It was fierce, blood running down in a tiny but strong current, dripping onto his crispy white shirt and leaving dark deep red stains on the papers splayed out in front of him on the table. He cursed out loud again. At least he was able to convince his assistant to go home after she had helped him to fill the forms and made sure he was taken into the exam room. He could only hope she didn't call his brother because if he would show up at the hospital now and see him in his bloodied shirt, Michael would never hear the end of it.

It couldn't be that bad, after all, if they still kept him waiting alone in this room not caring if maybe he bled to death by now. Right in that moment the door finally opened and a petite doctor rushed in. Well, it's about time, he thought. At least the doctor was not hard on the eyes. She was tall and slender, reddish hair hanging losely around her face. She came closer and he could distinguish her big hazel eyes and light pink perfectly shaped lips. Wait, did his vision just blur a little? He caught himself staring at her and realized she had asked him a question he didn't really hear. Embarrassing. He was here to get himself checked, not to stare at the beautiful doctor. He wasn't the kind of man to stare at women unabashedly even if they were that good-looking.

\- What was it? – he asked.

\- I have asked you, how long have you been having these nosebleeds, Mr. Scofield? - she repeated, frowning a little, concerned about his stunned expression.

\- My name is Michael, - he said instead of answering her question. He had no idea why he said that.

\- I know. I read you file, - she nodded and looked at him expectantly.

Right, she still wanted the answer to her medical question.

– This definitely wasn't the first time your nose bled like that, is that right?

Michael tried to concentrate. Suddenly he felt tired and a little dizzy.

\- It wasn't. I had it.. last week. And the week before that. And a couple more times. It had never been so excessive, though.

She was measuring his blood pressure at this point. Good, he could close his eyes for a bit.

\- I'm afraid we will have to keep you here overnight, Mr. Scofield.

\- Don't tell my brother, - came a weak reply and he blacked out.

When he opened his eyes the next time, he found himself in a different room. Still at the hospital, but the room was a little bigger. He looked around, noticing how bright the light coming from the window was. Must be morning. He looked down at himself noticing an IV transporting clear liquid into his vein and a hospital gown he was dressed in. Great. At least there were no blood stains on it. He hoped it wasn't the beautiful doctor, who changed him into it.

\- It's not a doctor's job to do that, you moron, - he whispered to himself sleepily.

\- What? – came a deep raspy voice somewhere from the right.

He turned and saw his brother sitting in a flimsy hospital chair near the bed.

\- Oh. So they did call you, - he casted his eyes down avoiding his brother's gaze.

\- Yeah, they did. The fuck are you doing to yourself, Michael? – Lincoln didn't sound angry (yet), but Michael knew it was only the start and kept looking straight ahead, not meeting his eyes. – How long were you going to ignore this shit? What, until you bled to death alone in your apartment in the middle of the night?

\- Remind me to cut Julie's salary.

\- Julie didn't call me. The hospital did. This is not a joke, Michael. They're going to do a ton of tests because they think it must be something serious, and guess what, when half a gallon of blood streams out of your nose, like water through fire-hydrant it is damn serious, and only a selfless workaholic idiot like you would suggest it's not.  
Lincoln stood up angrily and headed for the door: - I'm going to get the doctor.

The door slammed behind him and Michael couldn't help adding "End of rant". His brother was right of course. He was neglecting himself. He was selfless and he was a workaholic. And it was much easier to ignore the problem than to actually act upon it. Because now that it was out in the open, they will probably diagnose him with something serious and dangerous, and he will be obliged to spend a lot of time in the hospital, running tests, undergoing treatments.. His brother would hover over him, neglecting his own life and job, constantly worrying … Michael hated causing so much trouble to his only family – his older brother and his nephew. He'd probably prefer bleeding to death quietly alone in his apartment.. He mentally ordered himself to calm down, he wasn't dying. Maybe it's not that bad. He is getting help. And he didn't choose to get sick.

Lincoln came back in a couple of minutes with the beautiful doctor from last night. Seeing her has lifted Michael's spirits a tiny bit.

\- How are you feeling today, Mr. Scofield? – she asked looking at him attentively. She had a bunch of papers in her elegant hands.

Michael looked closely at her in return. She seemed tired. Grey circles under her eyes. Her lovely face looked paler than yesterday.

\- I'm doing better, Doctor.. Better, than yesterday. How are you doing?

(He heard Lincoln click his tongue beside the woman, but he ignored it and continued: ) – You look tired. Long overnight shift?

He could practically hear Lincoln rolling his eyes. Michael Scofield, ever the gentleman. He could be lying in a hospital bed sick but wouldn't ignore another person's struggle.

The doctor looked at him curiously and shifted her gaze to her papers.

\- I'm doing fine, you shouldn't be worrying about me, Michael. Let's concentrate on your well-being, alright? We're going to run some tests to find what's causing your symptoms. I'm afraid you will have to stay here for now.

He sighed. He had already figured it. At least the cute doctor called him by his first name. It made her sound less official and helped wear some of his uneasiness away. And also reminded him of something.

\- I'm sorry, Doctor, I wasn't in my best shape yesterday, which must be the reason I didn't memorize your name. Since you're going to treat me, I am gonna need to know it, right?

She smiled a little.

\- My name is Sara Tancredi. I will probably be your doctor only until we diagnose you, and then, depending on the diagnosis I will pass you to an according specialist.

\- He might need a narrow specialist? How sick is he, doc? What do you assume the diagnosis could be? – Lincoln chimed in voicing his concerns in numerous questions at once.

Michael has tuned them off as soon as he heard the word "tumor". Turned out he wasn't quite ready to fathom this possibility just yet. Even though tumors could be benign. He concentrated on the doctor's face instead, watching her lips moving, spilling out scary and threatening words. She had swept her hand over her forehead twice within the last 2 minutes. He looked into her hazel eyes and they seemed a little too watery, glistening not in a healthy way. He hoped his doctor wasn't sick herself. Despite her obvious fatigue, she still looked pretty to him. And she had a nice name. Simple yet elegant, it suited her well. Her last name seemed vaguely familiar to him but he couldn't place it in his frail state. He closed his eyes, ignoring his brother's worried look and doctor's endless tirade replete with medical terms.

Two days later they had finally let him out of their whitewashed institution with strict orders to stay away from work and any physical activity until he gets the call with test results and hopefully, his diagnosis, as well as further instructions. Lincoln had immediately sent his son over with stern instructions to watch Michael follow the doctors' orders and not let him hang too long on the phone with his office.

After 2 phone calls to his assistant within 1 hour, Michael sneaked into the bathroom to talk to his work partner. He didn't know how many minutes have passed, but probably quite a few, because he heard a knock on the bathroom door and fell silent.

\- Uncle Mike, is everything okay? – came his nephew's slightly concerned voice.

\- Yeah, don't worry, LJ, I just uh needed to use the bathroom.

\- Okay. But dad is on the phone.. He says if you will keep sneaking to the bathroom to be on the phone with your office, he's gonna move in with you and you will only be allowed to visit bathroom under his supervision.

Nearly dropping the phone on the tiled floor, Michael jumped out of the bathroom.

This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid by purposefully ignoring his health problem. He sighed and settled on the couch with a stack of science magazines. David had it under control at work and he might as well have some rest for real, in order not to escalate things with his overprotective brother. And for his own good. LJ nodded approvingly and engaged himself with texting whichever girl he had a crush on these days, occupying the nearby armchair

The next two days had been slow and boring for Michael, his nephew babysitting him by day and his brother coming over at the evenings. He had no bleedings and overall felt pretty good. Maybe it was a small unimportant thing after all? Everyone has nosebleeds from time to time.. He was gradually becoming impatient and unbearably bored. He wasn't used to sit at home and do nothing. Finally, when he was about to riot, his phone rang and upon answering he heard his doctor's voice asking him to come over to the hospital to hear the test results and his diagnosis.

\- How bad is it, Doctor Tancredi? If you can't tell it over the phone, I assume it's pretty bad, isn't it?

She had dodged his question professionally and here he was, driving through occupied roads and mentally preparing himself for the worst, his nephew sulking on the passenger's seat.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks for reading and for the reviews! I don't know much about brain tumors (and I thank god for that) other than a small research I did for writing this. Anywas it's not the main focus of the story :)

* * *

The doctors piled out of the room leaving him dumbfounded, trying hard to process the load of information about his state and prognosis and treatment plan they had just dumped on him. The door was about to close behind the last white coat and he squeezed his eyes shut breathing heavily, a whirlwind of medical terms and drug names making his head spin. He sat motionless for a couple of moments before reopening his eyes to read the diagnosis again. For the tenth time probably. It was then when he noticed that doctor Tancredi hadn't actually closed the door behind herself and for some reason stayed behind. Please, don't let there be anything else wrong with him. He had more than he could handle already on his plate.

She could probably read it in his fearful eyes looking up at her from his sitting position.

\- Mr. Scofield, I know that's a lot to handle.. Your case is rare but not exceptional. And both patients we treated for a similar case had undergone successful surgeries and are back to living their normal lives.

\- That's a nice pep talk, Doctor, - he said solemnly. – Did those patients happen to have LLI too? And is two people's anamnesis enough to come to any conclusions regarding positive statistics?

She licked her lips and looked down for a second.

\- It's not a pep talk. You've refused psychological therapy and as your doctor I'd highly recommend for you to reconsider this decision, because it's an important part of your palliative care. But I'm in no position to push anything onto you. We don't choose our diseases but we get to choose the way we handle them. Medical therapy and the tumor itself can cause quite a bunch of side effects. And they can be not easy to abide.

Michael buried his head back in his hands.

\- I just need a bit of time to process the news. In my current state I might refuse the whole medication plan, not only the psychotherapy. So just give me a couple of days, please.

His hand turned into fist and came to support his jaw. He opened his eyes to stare at the papers in front of him.

\- Okay. Right. Like we said, I'll be waiting for you on Friday to start your treatment. Don't be late.

She lingered for another moment to ask if there was anyone who could drive him home and he assured her his nephew would do it, simultaneously coming back to reality and remembering that LJ was waiting in the hall, probably half-dead with worry.

It wasn't until Thursday's afternoon that Michael finally gathered himself, having spent the previous evening with his brother and nephew, all three of them trying to wrap their heads around the news. Now he was able to think somewhat rationally and ponder upon all the information he had received at the hospital. They had diagnosed him with hypothalamic hamartoma, which was a quite rare kind of benign tumor, most likely genetically inherited from one of his parents. He couldn't know for sure if his mother or father had it because they had died when he was an infant and he had very scarce information about them. A bunch of doctors had discussed his state and the results of the tests and developed the treatment plan for him which included medical therapy to stop the growth of the tumor and to relieve symptoms and a following surgery.

As he had predicted, it required frequent visits to the hospital and very few working hours for him. Which sucked, to put it lightly. Lincoln gave him a stern brotherly talk about concentrating on the recovery and not even dreaming about his "workaholic bullshit". Michael made him promise not to neglect his own job in Michael's favour in return.

He sat in his home office slash library thinking about the next few weeks of pre-surgery treatment and the operation itself. He really needed to concentrate on his recovery. His family needed him alive and strong. He looked at the paper signed by doctor Tancredi and caught himself being a little relieved and satisfied by the fact that they let her supervise his medication therapy. There was something magnetic about her. He'd only seen her a handful of times so far and all of those times he was in a bad or confused state, so he decided it would be a good distraction to concentrate on the doctor tomorrow, to keep his mind busy and a little distracted from all the medical procedures and tumor talk. Which was probably a lost cause, he thought bitterly. Because when you have low latent inhibition you are concentrating on everything at once. And you notice everything. Every damn tiny thing.

But this wasn't going to start until tomorrow. He still had today for just himself. No doctors just yet and no side effects from meds they're going to start pumping into his body tomorrow.

He changed and grabbed his car keys, heading to one of the nearest bars.

Friday morning came much faster than he'd wish but he kept the promise and came on time. Within 10 minutes after his arrival doctor Tancredi was already hooking him up to an IV. She had informed him they needed to watch his state and reaction to the medicine. So she settled into the chair near the bed he was lying on.

\- Mr. Scofield, I have to emphasize and remind you that you're not supposed to drink alcohol while you're on these meds until the surgery and during the recovery period.

He had to admit this caught him a little off guard.

\- Yeah, I remember. Wasn't going to. I don't usually drink. Just a beer or two at weekends doesn't really count, does it?

\- Mhm.

She was looking down at the papers in her hands scribbling something down slowly. Or maybe just doodling, he guessed. His body didn't show any reaction to the meds (yet?) worth noting. He brushed his teeth twice this morning but she must have still smelled some alcohol spirit.

\- Well yeah I did drink yesterday. But my therapy hadn't started back then. So it's okay I guess.

She merely looked at him and didn't say anything.

\- Like I said, I don't usually do this.

\- You don't have to justify yourself, Mr. Scofield. I'm just reminding you what you should and shouldn't do during this period.

Her gaze was penetrating and it was a good distraction for real.

\- Can I ask you for something? A personal favor, - he asked earnestly.

She looked at him questioningly in return, a mix of guardedness and curiosity in her eyes.

\- Could you call me by my first name, please.

He must have looked really miserable, he thought, because her posture softened and she nodded in response.

\- Okay. I can do that. As long as you don't assume this means you get to call me by my first name too.

He smiled a little shaking his head.

\- Wouldn't dream of that. Thank you. Being inside these walls really makes me feel uneasy and I'd appreciate a little less officiousness.

After a couple of minutes of silence she had asked him how was he feeling and he reported everything was fine. She disappeared for a while promising to come back soon and asking him to not fall asleep.

This was how it went that first day of the therapy, she kept coming back into the room to check on him and making sure he was doing alright and leaving him alone to see other patients in the meanwhile. When he was done with the IV, he got his other prescription meds and after saying goodbye he left the hospital calling his nephew to come pick him up.

Well. This was bearable, he thought to himself. Maybe next time he could convince them he was able to drive himself to and from the hospital. And maybe, just maybe, they would soon allow him to actually go back to work, at least on those days he didn't have appointments at the hospital.

However, his relief was short-lived as that same afternoon he started to feel a little light-headed and weak and had to spend the rest of the day in bed. His worried brother made him call the hospital and after a short conversation he was advised that it was the effect of the meds and he was to stay on bed rest until his next visit to the hospital. Needless to say it was a long and worrisome evening for the three of them.

His next visit came on Monday and Michael was really dispirited. He was silent and dismal and it couldn't go past his doctor. After taping the IV needle to his hand gently she sat beside him fumbling with his chart.

\- So, how is it, Michael? Was yesterday better than the first two days?

He looked at her silently for a moment than averted his gaze to the ceiling.

\- A little.

He paused.

\- I hate being here. – After another moment he turned back to her. – I don't mean around you, doctor. Just these walls.. these beds.. I'm starting to hate my own bed too, you know. Because I spend too much time lying in it and feeling too weak to do anything.

\- It will get better, Michael. The start is rough. We'll see how it goes and maybe we'll have to reschedule your surgery for an earlier date. We'll do a CT scan in a week and check the progress. But your body will adjust to the meds and it will get easier, I promise.

He didn't reply.

After a minute of silence he heard her soft voice.

\- Still don't feel like trying a therapy?

He heaved a sigh.

\- I just want to go home. To be with my family. I don't want to spend another hour inside these walls talking to a shrink.

\- They can be helpful, you know. I used to visit one myself. It was productive.

It caught his attention but only briefly. And she looked like she regretted mentioning it.

\- Sorry, I'd leave you alone but I need to monitor your state. We don't have to talk though, if you don't want to. Just let me know if something's off.

He contemplated her words and realized he would hate the (certainly) awkward silence even more than he hated being here in general.

\- No, that's.. I would actually prefer talking, just not about.. my state. I could use a distraction.

He looked at her with hope catching a shadow of hesitation on her face but she conceded:

\- Alright. Let's try, - she smiled lightly. – Want to tell me about that family of yours?

Michael smiled back.

\- You met my brother. That big guy with rough exterior? Remember?

\- Yes, I do, - she nodded.

\- Yeah. Total softie when it comes to those dear to him. He and his son is pretty much all the family I got. So.. we really try to stick together. Always had. It's hard at times.

He paused and winced as something suddenly burned inside his chest causing his heart to skip a beat.

\- Are you okay? – came his doctor's immediate reaction.

Michael swallowed and the burning feeling faded.

\- Yeah. It's fine. I'm okay. Anyway, he's a tough guy, my brother. He raised me. Put me through school. And I owe him pretty much everything. So I hate causing him so much trouble..

She tapped her pen on the chart soundly:

\- You wanted to avoid the subject.

\- Right, - he smiled appreciatively. – So. What about you? Do you have a family?

He knew it was a risky question but he decided to take a chance. Predictably, the answer was evasive.

\- I am less lucky. Glad you have something to keep you going.

She fixed a strand of hair behind her ear and there was a certain finality to her gesture and tone telling Michael it was a wrong question to ask. She was less lucky? Less lucky than having only one person in the whole world to stand by your side while you were growing up? And that said person was barely 5 years older than himself. Her phrasing implied that she had nothing to keep her going. Or so he heard. A young highly attractive woman, a doctor.. with nothing to keep her going? This was puzzling. And, he had to admit, intriguing.

Oh, and so much about avoiding awkward silence.


	3. Chapter 3

His therapy was in full progress, his body adjusting to the meds and granting him some relief from the weakness and lightheadedness. He was able to drive himself to the hospital and back, the latest CT scan showing no signs of tumor's expansion and his surgery was to be performed as planned.

He started to get used to the hospital visits, each of them bringing not only a dose of medication but also a glimpse of his doctor and, if he was lucky - a bit of a conversation. It wasn't always a given, since sometimes she was busy with other patients and every now and then she wasn't in the mood for talking. Every time it made Michael wonder what was on her mind that bothered her so much and made her withdrawn.

This particular morning she seemed cheerful, and Michael was anticipating their interaction after she greeted him with a light smile.

She had always been gentle while performing medical manipulations and Michael considered himself lucky because if he had had a different doctor with less patience or softness to their hands and demeanor it would probably make these frequent hospital visits way less bearable.

\- I wish you were qualified to perform my brain surgery, Doctor.

She looked up and caught his gaze.

\- I appreciate your trust. I was actually considering surgery as a specialization back in North-Western.

\- You went to North-Western? I went to Loyola. – He presumed they were of the same age, so he added: - Maybe we met before. You know, drunk out at a bar somewhere.

\- I would have remembered.

He smiled:

\- You got exceptional memory? Oh wait, no, you don't approve of drinking.

He thought he saw her flinch a little and he stilled. Did he do it again, ruined the mood of a casual conversation and turned it into something personal she had no intention opening about. And why would she? He was just her patient. So they spent some time in this room twice a week. It was nothing. He just needed to choose more carefully what to say. He was about to try and fix it, turn the conversation into less personal but at that moment he felt the burning sensation in his chest again and it was intense enough to make him squeeze his eyes and exhale slowly.

\- What is it? Tell me what you're feeling, Michael, - she was on her feet by the time he was able to reopen his eyes, slightly relieved of the uncomfortable sensation.

\- It's .. It's no big deal, just.. I just got this sharp burning feeling inside my lungs, or heart, I'm not sure. It's going away though.

\- Can you please try and sit up, slowly, - she helped him sit up careful not to disturb the needle in his hand. – I need you to lift your shirt.

Michael obeyed, lifting it up with one hand, and she adjusted her stethoscope to listen to his chest. At the same time her left hand landed on his right shoulder. Michael sat frozen, the leftover burning sensation forgotten. He was quite sure this contact was absolutely not necessary, yet her hand was warming his skin through the shirt with its delicate heat. She was giving him directions to inhale and exhale slowly and he lifted his gaze to look back at her, breathing slowly and not being able to avert his gaze from her deep brown eyes searching his face. The moment felt intense and maybe he would even describe it as intimate. The heartbeat she was hearing through the device must have been faster than normal and there was only one reason for this since the burning sensation in his chest had already gone.

He didn't know how long this moment could have lasted, if the door hasn't opened after a short knock and a dark-skinned dark-haired woman hasn't rushed in:  
\- Sara, I'm sorry, but if there is no emergency here we need you in 207.

She was the first to look away and Michael swallowed hard following her gaze.

\- I will be there in a minute, Katie, - she told the nurse and the latter disappeared behind the door, throwing a curious look at Michael.

\- We haven't finished here, Michael, you can lie back down and rest for now but I will send a cardiologist to take a look at you in a short while, we will probably need to assign more tests to check your heart once again, - she looked at him apologetically, withdrawing her stethoscope and followed the nurse out of the room.

Michael readjusted his shirt and lay down on the bed, sighing. There was no end to this.. And today he was hoping to ask his doctor to let him work from home for at least a couple of hours per day. There was no chance she would grant permission now. His doctor… What the hell was going on here a minute ago? She touched him in a totally appropriate (though maybe a little unnecessary) way and yet he was melting caught in a warm and enticing sensation. He imagined how his brother would laugh his ass off had he found out that Michael felt butterflies in his stomach because his doctor merely touched his shoulder. He could practically hear Lincoln's gloating in his head, telling him he should have worked less and gone out more during the past years, so he didn't faint in case a woman touched him. Yeah maybe there was a part of truth in that, but Sara Tancredi wasn't just some woman. She was beautiful and soft and intelligent. God, he envied nurse Katie, who was on the first name terms with her. Maybe they were friends. He wished so hard they had met under different circumstances..

The following week brought a lot of worries and disappointment.

The first hospital visit was scheduled on Tuesday, the cardiologist's verdict hasn't been ready yet but Michael's medication dosage was to be altered starting today and he waited for his doctor impatiently. She came in after just a couple of minutes and started her manipulations. She was standing close to him, fumbling with the IV and Michael, despite being nervous and unsettled, couldn't miss the fact that his doctor seemed equally disturbed. He wondered briefly what could have upset her but the needle in his hand reminded him of the purpose he was here and brought him back to his own unfortunate reality.

She wasn't around much, sending a nurse to watch him instead. Finally, when he was about done, she came back and sat into the chair to put down some notes about his procedures. The nurse was gone and he grabbed the chance to talk to her.

\- I suppose the answer to this question will be negative, but maybe you could allow me to work from home, just for a couple hours per day, - he tried not to sound more miserable than it was necessary. – I really miss my job and doing something useful.

She looked up and the answer came fast and pre-established:

\- I'm sorry, Michael. Your tests results are not ready yet, but we do know the therapy affects not only your tumor but your other organs. If everything would have beed going according to the best possible scenario, I would say yes to your request, but unfortunately it's not the case. Let's wait until we have the results.

\- Something tells me those results will not be good news, - Michael admitted wistfully.

\- You will be able to go back to work after your surgery and full recovery. Let's concentrate on that.

\- Doctor Tancredi, you seem passionate about what you do too. Imagine if something was keeping you from doing your job. From doing the important things that you enjoy doing..

He tried to convey how it made him feel, just so she didn't think he was this stubborn workaholic who had no interests in life other than his job, but when he looked at her, she was avoiding his gaze and biting her lip hard. He felt like he hit a sore spot (yet again) and it was starting to really baffle him. No matter how hard he tried to keep their conversations neutral, he managed to touch subjects that stirred something within her, something very personal, upsetting and unpleasant. He hated to be the reason of her affliction but he also couldn't keep distance from her. He wanted to keep talking to her. He wished he had a chance to get to know her better.

During the minutes they were silent she seemed to collect herself and reply:

\- It's a temporary pull-back. You'll be able to get back to work after your surgery. It's going to take a few months to recover, but after that you will have the whole time in the world.

\- That is if I make it. If there won't be any complications. If my heart doesn't fail. If…

She tried to interfere but he cut her off:

\- No, don't say everything is going to be okay.

He gave her a hard yet pleading look and she pursed her lips. He fell silent for a moment watching the liquid dripping down the transparent tube and disappearing inside his vein through the needle. Suddenly he felt exhausted from this whole torment. Pain, needles, meds, tests, worries… And the worst part hasn't even started yet. He felt small and miserable. And so tired. Trying hard not to fall into the black hole of hopelessness and despair, he turned to look at his doctor, her hazel eyes bearing understanding and compassion. Thinking he had very little to lose by this point, he licked his dry lips and said:

\- Doctor Tancredi, can I ask you for something? Something.. personal.

For a second she looked like a deer in the headlights. He was not sure why, and he didn't give himself time to wonder. Her expression changed into neutral, she swallowed and replied holding his gaze:

\- If you must.

\- If the surgery does go well, and if I will be released with good prognosis.. Would you go out for a coffee with me? Afterwards.

He was searching her face to catch her reaction. She didn't look much surprised. He thought it was a good start. Or maybe she was used to such questions. She was a beautiful woman and Michael surely wasn't the first patient to feel attracted to her. She looked like she was debating what answer to give him. If she did receive such invitations regularly, she would have had a rehearsed declination ready, right? Michael wondered if that meant she wanted to say yes but couldn't, for personal or professional reasons. Or maybe she wanted to say no and was looking for a way to do it politely. Because he was this unfortunate brain tumor patient. Either way the silence was becoming long-drown and he spoke again:

\- It's just coffee. Somewhere outside these walls. But I'd really appreciate it. And it would give me something to look forward to during these weeks.

When the words came out he suddenly worried if he sounded manipulative. It wasn't what he tried to accomplish. He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. When he reopened them and was ready to utter an apology she finally spoke:

\- Michael, I don't usually do that.. And people who face a potentially life-threatening surgery rarely ask their doctor to go for a coffee with them. Normally they wish to forget that this hospital and its doctors existed in their life, after it's done.

At this he smiled weakly. He knew she wasn't finished but he piped in:

\- I guess I'm not much of a normal.

It earned him a small smile in return and she continued:

\- And.. I don't want my answer to ruin our patient-doctor dynamics..

\- It's okay. I get it. It won't, - he braced himself for an obvious "No", that he saw coming.

\- ..but I'll take the risk and say yes.

Michael was careful to keep his grin under control and thanked her candidly. She graced him with a tiny sweet smile he found very endearing and lowered her head to fill out his chart.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** **Sorry for the delay. And for the lack of dialogue in this one. And for wasting your time, probably.**

* * *

His test results came in and he was seated in front of 3 doctors again (doctor Tancredi wasn't even among them which discouraged him even more) who talked about his condition for 30 minutes and how the meds were starting to influence his heart and that they had to reschedule the surgery and it would take place in just a few days. Afterwards he was brought into the exam room, flustered and distressed, and was left to wait for his procedures and yet another bunch of pre-surgery tests.

To crown it all, his doctor didn't show up. She wasn't around for his tests and his procedures were performed by a tall slim Doctor White. As the needle was stuck into his vein by a large calluos hand instead of an elegant and soft one, he opened his mouth and asked about her.

\- Doctor Tancredi is not around today, but I have all your previous test results and everything I need, so don't worry.

Overwhelmed by the news the upcoming surgery, he couldn't give a lot of thought to her absence but he surely missed her calming presence and soft bedside manner.

Hours later, exhausted by numerous medical manipulations and troublesome thoughts, he left the hospital and drove home. He had a hard task to calm himself down enough to break the news to his brother. It was one of those times again, when he felt as if he were the older brother, and not the other way around.

The weekend promised to be hectic, since he only had a few days to prepare for the surgery and long hospital stay. He tried not to think too much of what's ahead and how hard the recovery will be and which complications could occur. One day at a time, he told himself, step by step.

* * *

The morning was as terrible as the previous day. She couldn't kick the thoughts of him out of her mind. Bitter and angry at both him and herself, she covered her head with the blanket and exhaled slowly. She knew falling back asleep wasn't and option now, so she just lay there trying not to think of anything, anything at all. To concentrate on the clock ticking or the faint sounds of the street barely seeping into the room through the closed windows. It had only worked for no more than a couple of minutes, and then the razor-sharp words thrown at her came back to her memory and she couldn't shake the feeling of hurt and shame off. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to hold back tears and keep her breathing even, but her heart was racing in her chest anxiously. This was no good. Not good at all. She felt like she was losing her ground and she fought desperately not to, she couldn't let this happen. Not after all these months of hard work to get her life back on track.

She kicked the covers off and got out of bed abruptly. She needed to occupy herself with something. Looking around her modest bedroom she didn't see anything useful, other than a pile of clothes on the chair near the window. She grabbed some pair of pants form the pile and fished a shirt out of the dresser. Skipping the shower, she dawned the clothes on and stepped out into the living room, trying to come up with some kind of activity that would be at least a little appealing and distractive. Clean up? No, terrible idea. She needed something to keep her brain busy, not only her hands. Her eyes landed on her sports bag and a sparkle of hope flashed inside of her chest. She grabbed the bag, before her brain could talk her out of it and start tempting her with other, more destructive ideas. She took a bottle of water out of her fridge, and picked her phone from the kitchen counter it was sitting on since last night. She took it to her bedroom and buried the gadget under her pillow. Having checked that the bag was filled with everything she needed, she got ready to leave for to the gym, hoping that her body held some energy for a workout, despite the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday's lunch. Workout was a good idea, concentrating on breathing and exercising had successfully proven to keep her thoughts away from basically anything (as long as you stay away from the treadmill, she reminded herself). She pulled on her coat and grabbed a scarf, and went out of the apartment.

The afternoon was chilly, brisk wind filled the park and was raging full force here by the lakeshore. Thanks to it, the area was almost void of people. She fixed her scarf and hid her hands back in the pockets swiftly. The sound of lake waters was caressing her ears and it was worth the cold. She left her bag at the gym having every intention to come back later tonight for another workout. She needed to eat something in the meantime, but having no money on her it required a visit home and she didn't feel like it and had no appetite anyway. She closed her eyes and sighed, licking her lips. The wind attacked the wet tender skin immediately and burnt it with icy needles making her fish around in her pockets for a chapstick, but there was nothing except for her keys. She couldn't decide how she felt right here and right now, illusively safe or lost and helpless?.. It didn't really matter, because she had to come back home eventually (and soon). And then back to work, in a few days. Just few days to get herself together and be okay enough to be there for her patients without any side thoughts of her father or all those bottles with meds and drugs she had free access to.

She groaned and rubbed her face with her palms. He was right, she was such a failure. "So why resist it?" the voice in her head pushed, and it was becoming more insistent. No matter how hard she tried to rebuild her life, it wasn't enough to restore his faith in her and to forgive her. And there was noone else who cared enough or whom she could trust enough to open up and seek help or support. Old times friends were left in her old life, the one she led before she crashed and burned, spiraled down the dark path. She didn't have anyone these days, except for maybe Katie, the nurse she worked with. But they weren't close enough, and Sara didn't want to alarm or push her away by confiding her struggle in her.

So she kept sitting there alone, her mind overwhelmed by thoughts, heart thumping with anxiety. The time was dragging slowly, and the wind seemed to get colder by the minute.

Before long, she noticed a figure approaching her solitary spot from the right and bent her head low waiting for the person to pass her by. They seemed to slow down though and she turned her face in the opposite direction. There was no one else around and the person seemed to stop completely somewhere too close to her comfort. She wasn't scared, - she knew she could take care of herself and defend herself if needed, but the fact that they stopped near her made her uncomfortable. Better turn and look them in the eye then, if she had to kick somebody's ass, she didn't want to be caught off guard. Turning her head, still bent down, to the left abruptly, she saw black male shoes and dark grey jacket (clean and new looking – which she took as a good sign). He was standing about five steps away and she raised her head to look into his face and recognized him immediately. It also became clear now, that he recognized her too, and that's why he had stopped. She was silent for a moment, and so was he, probably taken aback by her wretched look. She tried to assess how she must have looked, and well, it couldn't be very good, that's for sure.. Well, to hell with the pretense then, it was no use to come up with a lie and pretend she was doing great (especially since he was aware that she was skipping work). The way his attentive eyes were searching her face, she knew he wouldn't buy it anyway. She sighed and pursed her lips, realizing she was just staring at him without saying anything for a little too long (and he looked drained and wistful himself, but she knew exactly why, and it didn't prevent him from looking handsome, just like he always did). Finally, she found her voice and uttered in a way of greeting:

\- Michael..?

The sound seemed to break him out of his own stupor and he replied quickly:

\- Hi.

\- Hi, - she echoed, noticing how he didn't call her anything (probably couldn't decide what was appropriate) and watched him come a couple of steps closer. Strangely she didn't feel like running away. Something told her he wouldn't ask inconvenient questions. So she nodded when he closed the final few steps and gestured towards the bench she was sitting on with a polite "May I?".

\- You come here often? – he asked carefully, after sitting down beside her, observing the distance.

\- Only when I'm having a bad day or need to make a decision.

\- And which is today?

\- Both, - she smiled gravely.

She casted him a sideways glance, trying not to shiver from the cold wind, because of course he would notice. He was wearing a light grey fleece beanie - good thought on keeping that head warm, she approved mentally, and regretted leaving her own hat behind.

\- I know about the surgery. I'm sorry I wasn't there, - and she really was. She knew her presence was somehow important (calming?) for him. But she just couldn't. For her own sake. She was still there though when his results came in and the decision of rescheduling the surgery was made. So she knew.

– I had to take a few personal days, - she admitted reluctantly and paused before adding: - I made sure you were given to the best doctor, though.

He was silent and she turned to look at him, meeting his eyes. He had really nice eyes. Blue and deep like the lake waters (and equally mesmerizing), only much, much warmer. She couldn't read his expression, but he said a "Thank you" that sounded sincere enough and lowered his gaze to his gloved hands. (God, he came prepared, unlike her. She hid her own hands deeper in the pockets).

\- So, why are you here, alone? You must have a lot to do with the surgery coming up, - she genuinely regretted she wasn't there for his procedures. She cared about all her patients but he was one of those her mind would come back to when she was off work too. That is, until all the mess of the last few days started. She sighed quietly, biting her lip, as her thoughts wondered back to the events of these days. He had successfully distracted her from her destructive speculations for about 5 minutes, she thought solemnly.

\- I needed some time alone to think. I'm still having hard time to come to terms with this surgery. To be honest it scares the hell out of me.

She wasn't sure what was a good/right thing to say to this. Tell him once again he had good prognosis, remind him the tumor was benign? He heard these things too many times. And good prognosis didn't eliminate the possibilities of things going wrong during or post operation. And it was natural to be scared. She appreciated him voicing it to her, though. He seemed like an honest and sensitive guy.

\- You know we can't guarantee anything, but I've seen different cases of brain surgery patients, and if everything goes as planned, you're going to be fine. The post-surgery rehab is not a peace of cake… But you just have to march on.

She tried to master an answer that wasn't just your typical doctor speech. He wasn't here as her patient now, after all. At this point she wasn't sure she'll be back at the hospital in time for his post-surgery rehab. She shivered and it didn't escape his attention. She added slowly: - And Doctor White is very professional. You're in good hands.

She knew he caught what she meant. She was referring to his rehab. He asked cautiously:

\- You're not coming back?

She was almost sure she heard a trace of disappointment in his voice. She swallowed a thick lump suddenly obstructing her throat and replied after a bit:

\- I don't know., Don't know yet.

Suddenly she felt like crying or running away, both options highly embarrassing. God, she was such a mess. How naïve was to think she would be able to fix herself within just a few days.. She was looking down at her lap but could feel his penetrative eyes boring into the left side of her face. She felt lost and miserable, and there was no way it escaped his observant eyes. Hot tears started to burn her eyelids and she was grateful when he broke the silence:

\- Well.. Considering the circumstances, and the fact that I don't know when and if I'll be seeing you again, I'd like to call on that promise of yours to go for a coffee with me.

She met his confident gaze, raising a hand out of her pocket to fix her hair, messed up by the wind once again. She must look like such a wreck, in her current state plus the messed hair and red face thanks to the wind and her emotions. He caught on her surprise/hesitation and added: - Besides, don't know about you, but I'm freezing.

He followed her gaze to his gloved hands and then hat and shrugged unperturbedly. She couldn't help a small smile creeping over her face.

* * *

The coffeeshop wasn't crowded, to her relief, and she chose a table in the farthest corner. They have discussed the coffee preferences on the way and upon entering Michael asked if she was hungry, and having received a negative reply, he went to the cashier. She saw him grabbing whichever muffins were closest to him on the counter and smiled a little, wondering if he confused her lack of appetite with excessive modesty or grabbed them just in case she changed her mind later. He was a really sweet guy and she felt yet another pang of self-deprication for turning her life into a mess and thus making a guy like Michael become someone out of her league. He was smart and well-spoken, and she enjoyed talking to him. They both avoided difficult topics and she had a feeling she was as much of his distraction as he was hers. But it didn't feel as unhealthy as it sounded in her head. They were on the second cups when his phone rang and she escaped to the bathroom to give him some privacy and check herself in the mirror. When she returned to their table he was done talking, long fingers back on his cup.

\- It was my brother, he's worried about my long absence, - he explained (even though she didn't expect him to).

She sat back down and looked into her cup, freshly arranged hair falling back to her face. Nice as it was, time to go back to her reality. She tried to smile for his benefit but it probably looked pathetic. Looking up at him she was caught in the intense stare of his blue eyes. He wasn't voicing all the questions, he was trying to find the answers in her eyes.

\- I'm sorry, Michael.

If he asked her what for, she wouldn't be able to give him a definite answer.

\- Sara, no matter what happens to you or to me, I want you to know, that I would love to see you again. And.. if you need anything, anything at all, - he looked for something in the pockets of his jacket and placed a card in front of her on the table. – I mean… after I'll be able to answer the phone again, that is.

She took it slowly, it was his business card, with his name and contact information. After a second she watched his hand gently cover hers. She looked at their touching hands for a couple of long moments, his thumb caressing her soft skin, than bit her lip and made herself say:

\- You don't want to do this, Michael.

She kept her hand in place though, and so did he.

\- How do you know? – he asked softly.

\- Because you don't need this. I'm not .. I'm not what you see.

\- Well.. – He paused for a second. - I'm not what people see either. They don't see my brain tumor, but it doesn't mean it's not there.

She was on the verge of tears but looked him in the eyes and saw raw emotion there, making her marvel once again, how much he could convey with just his eyes.

She turned her palm upwards and squeezed his hand, before withdrawing hers and standing up.

\- I have to go, Michael. Good luck with the surgery.

With that she secured her scarf around her neck and left, clasping the card in her hand.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Hi guys! 1st of all, thanks for all the comments, faves & follows, much appreciated !. Second of all, sorry for the long delay in the updates. The thing is, I have found a new job and this job required moving to another country :) So i have been quite busy with all these new things. But now I am relatively settled in and I've missed Michael and Sara a lot, so here I am, back at it. Hope you enjoy. Forgive me for any mistakes/typos as I'm only from mobile here and it's not very convenient.

* * *

To say the post op rehab was not a peace of cake, was a big understatement. It was a peace of hell. Physically and emotionally. He was driving himself, his brother and his nurses nuts. The few hours per day when he had enough energy to stay awake and focused, he would terrorise his brother with questions, trying to find out if his memory failed him in any way. He could speak, he could read, he could remember his family members and pretty much all of his life. But what if he forgot something? What if some part of the memories was missing and he wasn't realizing it just yet? So the questioning went on and on. Lincoln would demonastrate an uncharacteristically infinite amount of patience until Michael exhausted himself and fell back asleep, and then he would shake his head and groan, rubbing his face with both hands. He was beyond happy his younger brother's surgery went well and he showed all signs of recovering nicely, but dear lord, could Michael give himself peace and just take it easy for once in his lifetime? No, ofcourse not. Which was actually a good sign, it meant Michael was his usual self and the surgery didn't have any critical affects on him after all. This thought was very calming amd helpful. Until one day (day 12 to be exact) when Michael was still at the hospital, he started the conversation with the following confession:  
\- You know, last night I was awake and tried to think about that Alehmann project I started before...  
Lincoln groaned as hard as he could and slapped a hand to his forehead:  
\- What the hell, Michael, which project, don't even start!  
Michael barely acknowledged his brother's reaction with a blink and continued, looking into the ceiling:  
\- So, I've tried to concentrate and think of it, come up with at least something.. I mean, I remember what that project is about and I remember where I stopped when I was forced to abandon work.. But I can't think of the project itself, you get what I mean? My brain just doesn't work.  
\- Shut up, man, - Linc tried to interfere again, but Michael was really intent to finish his thought.  
\- I try to think how that first floor security system could work out best and I just can't.  
He finally looked at his brother and Lincoln didn't hesitate to give him feedback:  
\- Seriously, Michael? You're fresh out of surgery, and you expect some new genius ideas of yours to overflow your brain? Are you even serious? Thinking about work and those damn projects now?  
Michael didn't let his tone bother him and replied in an undeterred manner:  
\- But I can't think.. I can't procees things, you know? What if I'm useless to my job now?  
\- You're not useless, you're just dumb. Dumb for thinking it's a good time to start exhausting your brain with projects. Just get some rest for now, you will be okay.  
Lincoln's angered tone changed into helpless, almost begging. Michael was looking back at him with his brow furrowed and Lincoln could tell he was still trying to concentrate on something. He sighed defeatedly and got up:  
\- I will go find your doc and have him talk to you.

After the doctor talked to Michael and reassured him everything was going good and he was doing very well, concidering, and the afteraffects of surgery can be various and multiple but they will pass, with time and therapy. He just had to be patient and concentrate on nothing other than his recovery and rest. Linc could tell Michael still felt doubtful but the talk had exhausted him and Lincoln felt relieved when his brother closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.  
He slept for about 3 uninterrupted hours until the nurse came in with his meds.  
Michael opened his eyes slowly and watched the nurse and her manipulations hazily. She informed him that she would come later to change the bandage on his head and he winced. She almost turned away to leave when Michel opened his dry mouth and asked:  
\- Hey.. When is my doctor coming back?  
She turned back to face him.  
\- Doctor White? He's -  
\- No, not him. My original doctor. Doctor Tancredi.  
The way he pronounced her name made Linc look at him quizzically. He almost forgot Michael used to have another doctor. But, apparently, Michael didn't.  
\- Doctor Tancredi is on personal leave, Mister Scofield. I believe Doctor White is your Doctor from now on.  
Michael didn't say anything else and the nurse left. Lincoln shrugged and poured some water into the glass, adjusted the bed so Michael was in halfseated pisition and watched him drink. He was about to ask how he was feeling when Michel addressed him:  
\- Can you do me a favour. Go and ask about her. See if you can find out anything. Where is she, is she coming back.. how can I contact her.. Anything.  
Lincoln opened his mouthed then closed it, and opened again.  
\- Why? Why is it important to you? Now, in your current state?  
Beacuse it was important, wasn't it? If it was something that bothered his brother fresh in the rehab after brain surgery.. Lincoln couldn't decide if it was a good or bad thing. He remembered people. Places. Circumstances. Good. But why this doctor? Maybe Michael's memory was playing some tricks with him? She was just his doctor for a couple of weeks. Or? Lincoln rubbed his chin and opened his mouth again:  
\- Is there.. Are you?..  
\- Just please do what I asked, - Michael insisted.  
Lincoln sighed and nodded, because his brother seemed to become agitated and it was not something he needed right now.  
\- Okay, okay, I will. I promise. Just, just lie down and rest, alright?  
He lowered the bed back into horisontal position and looked at Michael expectantly, wanting for him to close his eyes and fall asleep again. Instead, Michael looked back at him with some expectations of his own as if saying "Why are you still here?". Linc sighed and headed to the door to try and fulfill his request.  
When he came back, Michael's eyes were closed and he looked like he was sleeping but as soon as Lincoln approached the bed to sit on his chair, Michael turned his head to him and opened his eyes, asking quietly:  
\- So?  
He looked and sounded exhausted and Lincoln just wished he would get some rest.  
\- Sorry, man, they pretty much repeated what the nurse said, - she took a personal unpaid leave and they don't know when she will be back.  
Michael sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment.  
\- No contacts?  
Of course he knew noone would give him her personal phone number or address, but at least something? An e-mail? Any hint about where he could find her? If only he wasn't stuck in this hospital bed with his head freshly split open. He would have been able to find a way to check on her. He sighed frustratedly and almost immediately had to squeeze his eyes against a painful tug at the back of his head.  
This didn't escape his brother's watchful eye and had him step closer and ask worriedly if he needed more pain meds or anything but Michael promised he was fine.  
\- You need to rest.. Give your body the chance to take care of itself . Everything else will come later.  
Michael wanted to say something else but in the end just closed his eyes with a slight nod and Lincold sat down in the chair and watched his face, hoping he would fall asleep soon.

Few more weeks passed, and Michael's rehab was going well, every day he was gaining a little more energy than yesterday and the progess in his recovery was consistant. Though it was a hard work for everyone involved, Michael was finally cooperating and it was the most important basic of success. He was following all the recommendations and went to all the therapy sessions, both occupational and neurological ones. To Lincoln it looked like his brother finally turned his stubbornness into the right direction and it was doing him a lot of good. It still was not easy, as at times Michael got frustrated and angry with himself and his body and the long way to recovery, but it was only common and unavoidable in his situation.  
It's been over a month now and Michael didn't remember much of the operation day or the next 24 hours in the ICU. He still felt weak and tired but like the voice from the pre-sutgery life told him, he concentrated on marching on, step by step, day by day. He would have probably been depressed about not being able to go back to work for another..month? Two? Noone could tell. But he just didn't have the energy for anything other than basic tasks like eating, talking, taking some short walks and trips to the hospital for therapy/tests. After those he usually slept for hours. Though each day the walk would last a little longer and he would stay up after dinner a little longer to talk to his brother or nephew, depending on who was keeping him company and taking care of him. Gradually he became fit enough to take a cab to the hospital and back instead of being driven and accompanied by his brother all the times. It would still take long before he'd be able to drive. The scar still looked kind of fresh and ugly to him, and his habit of having his hair shorn didn't help hiding it. At least it was winter, so he got to wear a hat.  
As the second month was nearing its end, imperceptibly, his mind was becoming more and more capable to be occupied with other things, not only his recovery.  
He found himself in the hospital again, having just finished talking to his doc and reciting the good news in his head, that everything was going well, there were no signs of any tumor cells left in his brain and his mental and physical state was more than satisfying. Feeling light and encouraged he approached the receptionist's counter when he noticed a familiar face. It was the nurse who used to work with Sara. He struggled to remember her name, as he couldn't see her badge from where he was standing, but he was sure it was her.  
He reached the counter and addressed the woman behind it, asking about Doctor Tancredi again. He was told (again) that she wasn't there and they had no information regarding her that they were willing to give. He looked at the woman's indiffetent face and asked a bit desparately:  
\- Is she alright?  
The woman looked at him as if he was delirious and repeated what she said before. Michael sighed and looked at Katie (right, her name was Katie! He remembered out of the blue). He could tell she heard all the conversation by the way she avoided his gaze. He thought to come closer and talk to her but she grabbed some files and rushed away. He watched her leave so abruptly and cursed himself for not having asked Sara's phone number, address, anything, when he had the chance back at the coffee shop.  
He came home and instead of lying down as he usually did, he went to his office and closed the door. Which immediately cought his brother's attention and he followed inside, finding Michael tapping away on his laptop.  
\- What are you doing? - he asked cautiously, hoping Michael wasn't going to try and do some work for his engeneering company.  
\- Some research. Don't worry, it's not work related.  
He pressed a few more keys and Lincoln watched him sit back and rub his forehead thoughtfully. The curiousity got the better of him and he stepped forward and looked at the screen. Taking a quick glance at the open tab he asked incredulosly:  
\- Seriously, Michael? You did't let go? What is it about this doctor that you can't get her out if your mind?  
\- No, wait, Linc, you don't understand.  
Obviously, he didn't. Michael looked through some articles and finally uttered:  
\- This is why her name seemed familiar. Remember Frank Tancredi, who was running for the governor position, until he withdrew his candidacy due to some family circumstances..  
Lincoln was looking at him, puzzled, whereas Michael's face was alight with some kind of emotion he couldn't quite define.  
\- And? Why does it matter?  
\- Maybe it doesn't, - Michael replied absently.  
\- Then what is so important about this girl? Why can't you let her go?  
\- Because I am worried about her. She might be in trouble. And I can't find her.  
Lincoln looked at his brother, who was staring at the screen with his brow furrowed, and he could officially announce, that Michael was back, the pre-surgery Michael, persistant, dedicated and selfless, unable to step back and ignore other person's struggle.. Lincoln kept looking at his concerned face and could feel a wave of warmth and affection towards his brother, and gratitude that he was doing fine after such a complicated health condition and surgery. He just hoped the girl appreciated his brother's efforts, because he had no doubt Michael would find her.

* * *

Oh he will, and soon! ;)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Here I am with an update. Thank you for your kind (too kind) reviews. One of you asked for Sucre to be present.. well here he is :)

* * *

A few more weeks have passed and Michael was feeling much better. Still on sick leave and not able to work or drive his car, but in general his state improved considerably. Doctor White was very happy with his post-op state and the way things were going. He was pretty sure they were past the stage where things could go wrong beyond their control, as long as Michael followed all the recommendations to the letter, which he, luckily, did.

He didn't need his brother's or nephew's presence at all times anymore, but they still spent quite a lot of time in his appartment. During daytime, when he was mostly alone, he would read a little and go for long walks. More than once he ended up in the park where he met Sara, but had no such luck anymore. He tried to remember something, anything that could give him a clue about how to find her. She mentioned she was at the gym that day.. But that wasn't really a clue, since he had no idea which one she went to, and there must be tens of them in this neighbourhood alone. Besides, a decent gym's policy for sure didn't include giving away information about their members. He sighed and went home, trying to ignore the gnawing sensation in his chest, whenever his mind went back to the image of her upset and lost face before she left him in the coffeeshop. Oh he's been there recently too, a few times. If someone knew the reason why he went to these particular places, looking at people, hoping to see that auburn hair and beautiful hazel eyes, he would feel embarassed, maybe even ashamed, because it could seem kind of like stalking.. But he wouldn't do it if he wasn't worried about her. If he could make sure she was alright, he would let it go. If she was alright, she would have been back at work. Or quit this hospital and found another job in some other place, not just taken some long unpaid leave without letting her collegues (and patients?) know what was going on.

The next check-up appointment came soon and having gone through all the tests and procedures, Michael couldn't stop himself from walking to reception and taking a look around. Maybe her name will be on the board (no). He looked at the woman behind the counter and realized that he hasn't seen her here before. Alright, might as well go and ask her about doctor Tancerdi without a risk of being deemed creepy.

Unfortunately, the answer was still the same, no news on her. He was starting to feel desparate. Maybe he should let it go for real. He walked away from the counter and took the nearest turn to the right slowly, thoughtfully, when suddenly saw someone standing in front of him behind the corner. He slowed down even more and took a look at the person. Nurse Katie. Michael didn't even have time to open his mouth, when she just looked at him with a mix of..understanding? and doubtfullness and then she said quietly and hastily: "Gateway Foundation, North". After that she gave him another look that most likely meant "don't make me regret this" and disappeared in the long hallway.

Of course he knew what Gateway Foundation was and what it meant. His first and most prominent reaction was "she is indeed in trouble". That is all. Was he taken aback by this information? No. Discouraged? Hardly. God, his own brother had been this close to serious alcohol abuse and Michael was pretty sure Lincoln knew what drugs were not only in theory. It was a long time ago. They've had some hard years behind them. Michael had seen enough things in his life to know that people who had to go into rehab centers often were not some cons or criminal elements. Look at Sara, she was a doctor, for god's sake. She was educated and smart, and she was a daughter of this mighty politician. He could imagine how that could be stressful and affect his child's life in a negative way. He didn't know her well enough to come to any conclusions, also he didn't know her well enoug to judge this young woman. She wasn't anything but professional and kind to him. What he knew is that she was struggling with something. She mentioned she used to see a therapist. She was miserable and lost when he saw her the last time. And since then his mind kept coming back to her, even after surgery and everything he went through, he couldn't let go. He just needed to see her, find out how is she. Maybe she needed help. She had his phone number, but of course she didn't call. Besides, she knew he had been going through brain surgery. Of course she wouldn't call.

All these thoughts were rushing through his head during the cab ride home, and while he searched the internet for more details about Gateway Foundation.

Do they allow visitors? Is she there under her real name? How would she feel about him coming there? He thought about Katie and why she chose to tell him. Probably she knew Sara needed support. And she saw how many times Michael asked about her at the hospital, it gave her the idea that he cared. And she knew him as a patient and was aware of his background to know that he wasn't some creepy stalker. It gave him some degree of confidence that Sara would not be angry or upset by his visit.

He was able to find out that visitations depended upon the program Sara was in, of which he of course had no idea. But that's okay, he will come up with the way to see her. The thing that worried him the most was Sara's reaction. He didn't want her to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable with his visit, which was probably unavoidable. He couldn't decide what was the better way to handle this, - somehow let her know in advance and therefore make it her decision if she wants to see him and be prepared for it, or just go ahead and show up out of nowhere. He checked the time and it was past 5pm, most likely too late for going there, concidering the time he would need to get there, and evening traffic. He chanced calling them but ofcourse noone would give him any information about the patients over the phone (and probably in person too). He spent the most of the evening thinking about the best way to deal with his need to see Sara, until exhaustion took over him and he fell asleep within minutes after his head hit the pillow.

The next day came and he woke up with a heavy head, having spent too much time last night concentrating, today he felt groggy and lethargic. Having no more power to comprehend, he decided to just go out there and act. Besides, knowing where she was gave him the feeling that she was close and he didn't want to wait another minute to see her. However, when he arrived to the main entrance, his determination somewhat wavered and he stopped few steps away in indecision. He stayed there, having turned his back to the cold wind, taking in the surroundings. Few moments later the door to the building behind him opened and he cought himself thinking, if it were a movie, he would totally see Sara coming out the door behind him. But of course it was no movie but his harsh reality, so when he turned he saw a young man approximately of his age. His hair was also shorn and his skin was darker, Michael would assume he was Puerto-Rican. They guy stepped out and turned to the left, breathing the cold winter air like it was the air of freedom. Michael watched him carefuly until he turned to and caught him staring. The guy glared back somewhat suspiciously but after taking in Michael's appeareance and his fine clothing seemed to relax. And his interest was obviously piqued.

\- Can't make that final step? It's fine, just do it. I will hold the door for you.

He actually moved to the door but Michael was faster to stop him with reply:

\- Uh, no, I'm actually looking for a visit with someone from here.

\- Really, who would that be?

\- Um. A girl named Sara. Do you know her?

The guy pursed his lips and looked Michael over with renewed interest as if he was assessing him.

\- And who would you be?

Michael licked his lips and looked away for a long moment.

\- I guess I'm..

\- No, man, - the guy grimaced and started talking formidably, - if you only guess, you stay away from Sara, okay? She is doing so good, she doesn't need any trouble with you people. Not Sara. Just get out of here.

\- No, wait. I meant.. I am only her patient. You know she is a doctor, right?

This earned him another look full of suspicion and he pressed further:

\- So she was my doctor. My name is Michael. Michael Scofield. I just want to check on her. See if she is alright.

He didn't know why he decided to just be honest with this man, who just came out of the rehab center..maybe because he also cared about Sara? The protectiveness he showed towards her made Michael feel as if they were in the same boat. And hearing Sara was doing good lifted a conciderable amount of weight off his chest. But this guy was not easy to convince. Michael sighed and took off his beanie, turning around.

\- See this? I had an operation recently. Brain surgery. She was my doctor.

When he turned back, the guy looked impressed and a bit aghast.

\- Do you believe me now? I won't get her in trouble. It's the last thing I want. Do you know if she can have visitors?

\- She can, if she wants. - He replied hesitantly watching Michael putting his hat back on with caution. - But she never had any. Besides, you can't just go in there and..

\- I know, I know. Just.. say, are you going back there?

\- Yeah. My aunt is about to pick me up but I'm coming back tonight. She wants me to do another 30 days.. But I swear, I am staying out of trouble this time. I could leave right now, you know. But I am not going anywhere. Just waiting here for her, - he said with some degree of pride in his tone and Michael cought himself smiling a little. - I'm Sucre, by the way.

He extended his hand and shook Michael's.

\- Nice to meet you, Sucre. Do you trust me and my scarred scull enough to pass a small message to Sara?

\- That depends on what exactly you want me to pass, - he looked at Michael with a challenge. - They will check me, you know. And I'm staying out of trouble.

\- Just give me a second. It's nothing illegal.

He turned away and fumbled for something in his pockets. Another few moments later he placed a small weightless thing in Sucre's hand. A small paper crane he just made with a page from the small noteblock he kept in his chestpocket. Sucre inspected it carefully, looking under every wing and unfolding every fold, revealing a scribbled message inside, which earned him a disapproving look from Michael, but he just glared back, keeping up his inspection. At the end he even smelled the paper crane, before nodding approvingly and placing it in his pocket.

\- If she doesn't want to have anything to do with this I'm sorry, mate, I am not doing this again. Don't stalk her, or me.

\- I won't. It's up to her. Just this once.

Sucre nodded again, and turned to the car that just pulled up to the curb.

\- I gotta go.

\- Thank you, - Michael watched him jump in the car and hug the short elderly lady behind the wheal.

Well, this hasn't gone too bad. The next few days were going to be long and full of hopeful expectation, as well as moments of bitter disappointment, for sure.

* * *

I know, I know. It will happen in the next chapter, I promise!)


End file.
